“That sounds horrible,”I retorted, my thoughts going to Calix. As I followed Evera into the largest of the rooms, I envisioned rolling over in the morning to meet the wide, honed eyes of the messenger boy and shuddered.
“Why’s that?”She looked up at me.
I raised my brows and leaned into a lighter response.“In your imaginary world, you can sleep with your children. In mine, I’m using the bed for other activities.”I nodded to the side of the room.“And that wall.”
Evera flushed.“I thought you didn’t want children.”
A somber weight fell over us, and her smile faltered.
“No,”I said. I’d only been teasing her, but now an air of discomfort disconnected us. I would never have children, not even for her.“What’s downstairs?”
Evera nodded, eyes cast aside, and brushed past me, leaving me alone in the room. I sighed. She was just starting to open up, to relax, to be comfortable in my presence.
Double windows let sidelong light into the room. And though there was no furniture, I could envision a canopy bed between them. The view looked out to the broken well and what could be restored to a quaint garden.There truly was such potential here.
Leaving the room, I determined to lighten the mood, and I found Evera at the bottom of the steps. As she showed me the lower rooms of the manor and spoke of her childhoodimaginings, her energy began to return. By the end of her tour, the lightness of her smile had come back to her.
Sitting before an empty hearth, I pulled the cork from the wine bottle and tested the drink. It was a red, which was not my preference, but the faint smoky flavor to its undertones was a nice surprise.
Evera stifled a giggle, and I handed it over with a challenge in my eyes.
She took the bottle and turned it up, mimicking me. It was a sweet drink, low in spirits, but if she thought herself impressive for drinking it with vigor, I would not be the one to contend her beliefs.
Drawing breath dramatically, Evera set the wine on the wood floor, pride dancing in her eyes.Gods, she is incredible.
“Have I earned a tart?”she asked, sarcasm lacing her words.
Acquiescing, I opened the satchel in search of the two tarts, but my attention caught on the thick-bound book shoved in with the deliveries.
“You brought the book of lore,”I observed.
Evera sobered. “I thought you might want to learn more about yourself. You can borrow it if you would like.”
The caring gesture tugged at my heart.
“Will you read it to me?”I asked, handing it to her. Raised in the castle, I was taught to read and write, but Evera didn’t know that. I would tell her later. But for now, I wanted the excuse to listen to her soothing voice.
Scrunching her brows, Evera ran her hand over the book in her lap, then offered out her empty palm with pointed purpose. I resisted rolling my eyes and handed over a tart. She unwrapped it eagerly. When she bit into the crust, she moaned her satisfaction, and her stomach gurgled in response.
I shook my head and unwrapped the second tart for myself.This was good for her, though, to take the time to eatand relax. Even if the hearth was not lit, and the place we found ourselves in lacked basic comforts. It was still an escape, a reprieve, from the outside pressures of life, if nothing else.
Though Evera started her meal with fervency, she was only halfway through the tart when she set it back on its wrapping and, with a groan, leaned back and propped herself up with her palms.“I’m so full.”
I studied her as I took a bite out of what remained of her tart. Though she appeared undoubtedly more relaxed than she had this morning, I still worried. “You need sleep, too.”
Evera rolled her head to the side and scowled at me.“I sleep.”
“More than an hour or two.”
“I’m fine.”
She wasn’t, but at least she’d eaten.“Will you read to me, then?”
With a stretch and a yawn, Evera pushed herself back up and retook the book from where it lay beside her. She opened it and flipped through the pages. Landing on one, she pointed to a scramble of text beneath the title and read it out loud. The words were entirely incomprehensible, yet she voiced them with a feigned accent that hinted toward elegance.“It’s the language of the old world. It means ‘the line of the fox,’ but it sounds better the other way, doesn’t it?”
“You speak the old language?”
She shook her head.“No, I just remember Leighis telling me that.”
